


Gebo

by freetheelves2



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, F/M, Knifeplay, Light BDSM, Marking, Mindfuck, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-29
Updated: 2007-05-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:45:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8407444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freetheelves2/pseuds/freetheelves2
Summary: Gebo: Gifts, both in the sense of sacrifice and of generosity, indicating balance. All matters in relation to exchanges, including contracts, personal relationships and partnerships.





	

“It’s so nice to have you with us, Miss Granger.”

Struggling against her restraints, she glared back at the whole lot of them, dressed in full death-eater garb, faces hidden from her and the world, and, sometimes, she thought, even themselves.

“It’s no use resisting,” one of them brushed off, before continuing, “They say the war is over, Granger, that the dark side has won and Harry Potter and his dear companion are dead. Do you agree?”

Without letting her say anything, he just kept going, leaving her wanting to scream at them about how they were _wrong_ , how _both_ sides had lost, but there was no use, “We don’t agree. The war is not over. Not until people like you – roaming about so freely and in such _numbers_ – are in our hands. Much like you, dollface.

“Your friends are dead; what is there even left for you to do? Is there a meaning to your life other than _run_? We offer you a way out from such a meaningless existence in exchange for your immense knowledge as a key to where the rest of your little crew are.”

In her struggles she’d managed to drag down the gag keeping her from speaking – why they couldn’t just _silencio_ her, but part of her figured that it was the raw physicality of having a gag shoved into her mouth that mattered to them. That, and at least now she could talk. Of course… they wanted her to be able to do that, too.

For a split second she considered not resisting, just refusing to say anything.

But then her inner willpower overtook her, and she realized she couldn’t _not_ resist them.

“You animals,” she spat.

“All we want is your assistance to—“

“To kill my friends!”

“Well…”

“NEVER!” she screamed at them, wishing she could see their faces.

One of them stood, straightening out his robe. “Think it over. We do believe that you are more than capable of seeing reason in what we ask of you. Who knows, you might even get your freedom out of this.” He walked over to the guard at the door. “Bring her back to her cell,” she heard him mutter under his breath, the other Death Eaters following him out the door. She screamed.

* * *

She’d been in Azkaban for close to two weeks now, and she was going crazy already. And that was sans dementors, who were instead raiding exclusively Muggle towns on order of the Bellatrix Lestrange, who had taken over after what had happened at the Final Battle.

It was all some sick twisted joke.

A shadow passed in front of her bare cell before being replaced by one of _them_.

“What do you want?” she spat at him in disgust.

Her hostility remained until he removed his mask and looked at her.

“This is all your fault, you know.” He began pacing in front of her cell, her face ashen as she stared at him. “Who would have known that Potter and the Dark Lord would meet up in the Final Battle, only to have Potter pull out this trump card after his best friend died, knowing suddenly that the key to killing Lord Voldemort was simply killing himself. The ties, Granger, the _ties_. And suddenly the world explodes. The cynics realize that if he-who-must-not-be-named had wanted to live forever, what he would have really had to do was protect Potter because he held the last key to his soul, but the rest of the world? Thought that Potter had failed, most of his faithful Auror companions killed, and suddenly the world turned to those who were in the larger numbers. Fancy that. Ickle Granger had to run. A fugitive in exile from the very world she and her friends had tried so desperately to save. Sounds a bit like Star Wars to me, dollface.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said very quietly, still not sure why he was there, why he was alive, or why he was even talking to her, let alone with all of this information in tow.

“Would you prefer princess? Oh, but then these surroundings wouldn’t really fit. Shall we return to my room?”

She looked around herself. What was he suggesting?

“No answer? Fair enough.” That said, he continued with his lecture. “Of course, how was the brightest witch of her age to know what would happen during the Final Battle? What would happen if certain Dementors died? War victims… they’re not like normal people, Granger. They hold people’s _souls_. Souls that are lost and go searching for—“

“Their owners,” she finished, her face still as pale as it was before.

“I would be in my forties if it wasn’t for what happened. My body didn’t age, Granger. I’m a forty-something in a thirty-something body. Nevertheless, I can’t help but feel a bit remorseful for having missed out on so much.

“I’d always had my eye on you. And now… look at that, the sides have changed. I’m on the outside of the bars and you’re in there. Looking just like my poor, weeping mother after she took Polyjuice, sacrificing herself so I might have my freedom.”

He took his wand out of his pocket and unlocked the door, pulling it over, staring down at her as if to challenge her. For a second she wondered if leaving with him would be a harsher reality than staying.

“You have an Electra-complex,” she stated coldly, not moving.

He just shrugged. “We all have our vices. Similarly I could ask you if you’d like me to dye my hair red, dollface. Coming or not?”

She glared at him one more time before getting up to follow him down the hallway, going up a staircase until he seemed to have reached the door he was looking for. This place was like a bloody maze.

“What, you have a trial planned for me?” she asked contemptuously, stepping inside the room and resisting the urge to gasp in awe. “That’s quite some treatment you get here,” she commented darkly, sitting herself down in one of the large black-leather chairs.

“I said I would be welcomed back like a hero. I was right. And no, no trial. Just scones and tea.”

“Oh, trying to win me over with hospitality? Nice try.”

“Not at all,” he replied smoothly, taking a seat himself and picking a crumb off the plate. “I’m here to ask you of something else, actually. No strings attached. But you’re a bit of an obsession. You, that strong, intelligent woman. Not to mention beautiful. And yet no one seemed to notice. Too bad you were only fourteen back then and I had to be in disguise.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione asked, suddenly alarmed.

“You say you don’t want to kill your friends. Here’s you out. No pun intended. I do have a certain amount of power here, Granger. After what I did? Bellatrix has more respect for me than anyone. She’ll let my little ‘slip-up’ just go, a story about how I had attempted to reason with you and you just somehow managed to escape. It’ll do little to harm my name here, and you’d be free again.”

She was about to say something when his wand came out of nowhere and suddenly the buttons of her shirt – unkempt and dirty by now – were undone.

“Hey!” she exclaimed in protest, her hands instinctively coming up to pull her shirt together again, but he just shook his head. “I wasn’t offering this as an option, dollface. I was saying that that was your reward if you played nice.”

Her complexion paled again significantly, staring at him in shock as he slowly got up to grab something out of a drawer, turning around and walking back over to her. “But it’s not nearly as much fun to use magic, don’t you think?” Slowly he set down his wand – alongside something else – on the table, before going to kneel in front of her.

She didn’t attempt to resist him as he tied each of her limbs securely to the chair, nervousness pooling at the pit of her stomach as she licked her lips and stared ahead of her at the wall.

“Have you _fucked_ before, Hermione?”

The fact that this was the first time he’d said her first name, and that coupled with a word with such strong undertone… shivers were running down her spine.

“You haven’t, have you,” he leaned in close to whisper in her ear. She just swallowed nervously, refusing to remove her gaze from that spot on the wall at all, her breathing getting heavier suddenly for some reason. “That’s all right,” he said very slowly, his fingers slipping inside her shirt and running along her sides, “there’s a first time for everything…”

Hermione didn’t move as his thumbs slowly moved, stroking back and forth on top of the material of her bra. She shivered again, involuntarily, and he leaned forward, his breath hot and heavy on her face, right before he very softly took her lower lip in between his lips, gently sucking on it.

Only to pull away again and this time, when he came back, fully claim her lips as his.

The kiss was deep and raw and passionate and so many more things than she had never expected to find beneath the surface of a Death Eater, let alone him; a man who had his soul taken from his body for the cruel acts he had committed…

For a split second something rang in her ears about the bad boys – the liars, the cheaters, the wankers – being the most alluring of all.

It was creating a complete paradoxical in her head. On one side, this was everything she wanted her first sexual experience to be, and yet… she wanted to shut down her brain at the mere thought. He was a _murderer_ , more or less.

_Oh but that felt so good_ , Hermione thought, letting her eyes flutter closed as he slipped his hand underneath the material, flicking his thumb over her nipples.

A small noise of appreciation escaped her throat, and she cursed herself for it when she felt him smirk against her lips. “I’m going to mark you, Hermione. It’ll be like your one-way ticket out of here, but I feel the need to leave some kind of _impression on you_.”

Her eyes opened at that once more, only to see him unsheathe a blade.

“What—“ she started, her breath hitching in her throat at the sight. He just shook his head.

“Ssshhh…” he said very quietly, the knife nearing her throat until it pressed up against it. Hermione quivered in her seat. “That’s better.”

Very carefully he moved the blade from her throat to her stomach, going lower… lower…

He was going so slowly that it hurt more and less at the same time, moving the blade across her skin. Hermione bit on her lip until she tasted blood, and suddenly the pain stopped.

A swipe of the blade and suddenly her already-ripped jeans were torn through at the crotch, closely followed by her panties. _White cotton,_ she thought briefly, her head falling back and her eyes staring up at the ceiling. It didn’t matter anymore.

But suddenly her restraints were gone, and then he entered her – this time in one short, quick movement, and her limbs instinctively wrapped themselves around him, pulling him closer.

The pain was nothing compared the cut, and quickly subsided, as he started pumping in and out of her, looking more raw and emotional than she’d ever seen any of them look. This, this _act_ was affecting him just as much as it was her.

And then he looked at her, and something within Hermione _made sense_ all of a sudden.

_He was just another human being._

With, with _feelings_ , and _raw emotions_ just as passionate as they would be in any other human being.

She felt a tug backwards on her hair and she gasped, pain and pleasure mixing in a way she never thought possible, just as he came within her, shuddering his release, and she felt another _slash_ on her stomach, causing her to buck up against him as her own orgasm rumbled through her.

It was all over just as soon as it had begun. A wave of his wand, and suddenly she was properly dressed again – clothes clean and neat and pressed – and she felt better than she had in weeks.

“You’re free to leave, dollface,” he smirked, handing her a small piece of paper before sitting down in one of the chairs and crossing one leg over the other, picking up a cone and smiling at her.

Hermione stood there, confused, before turning around and walking out the door, surprisingly enough, finding the exit within minutes. Once outside, she found a man waiting for her in a boat, beckoning her inside, and Hermione unfolded the note.

_You might want to read into those slashes a bit more closely than you have._

Hermione lifted up her shirt to see an X.


End file.
